


Show Me, See Me

by Sulwen



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Glam Rock RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-03
Updated: 2010-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulwen/pseuds/Sulwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam's been holding back on stage all tour long.  No more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Me, See Me

There's something about an empty theatre that Adam loves. The echo, maybe, the way the soles of his boots sound as he strides across the stage, facing all those empty chairs. Or perhaps just the atmosphere, the strange tingling sensation that comes from being the only person in a space that's meant, that's _designed_ to be crowded, like trespassing, like witnessing a secret.

The building is locked down tight, every entrance bolted shut, not another soul in the building...no one but the two of them. They're in full stage costume, full makeup, maximum glitter. Adam sparkles enough to be seen in the back row. Or would, if anyone was there to see him.

He turns the house lights down and the fog machine on, and the empty seats disappear. Adam lets his mind fill them with excited fans, a blend of every crowd he's stared out into over this whole long tour, and fuck, he's already hard. This idea is crazy and brilliant and wonderful and absolutely the best birthday present he's ever had, and if he wasn't already madly in love with Tommy, this would definitely have swayed him.

He takes his place behind the stairs, microphone in one hand. He doesn't need it, not tonight, but it's part of the show, and it won't feel right if he doesn't have it with him. Tommy is already out on stage, as usual, and Adam waits for his cue, an unexpected twinge of nerves shooting through him at the last minute. Yeah, this had been Tommy's idea, but it's Adam's fantasy, and it's kind of weird. He wouldn't blame Tommy for backing out...but his cock would _not_ be happy with him.

Then it comes, those quick sliding notes that are really only there to give him something to enter on, and Adam's singing "Voodoo," three lines in before he quite realizes he's doing it. It's just his vocal and Tommy's bass, no other music, and yeah, it sounds weird and bare and not at all like usual. But Adam relaxes into the notes he's sung hundreds of times over, the choreography he could do in his sleep, and his mind floats away on the ritual of performance.

He plays to the crowd like he always does, gives them the sex-eyes, the hip thrusts, the big notes they always cheer for, and mentally gives himself credit for not just going over to accost Tommy right here and now. But he wants this to be as real as possible. There are so many things he's _wanted_ to do on stage that he just _couldn't,_ not unless they started putting an age limit on the shows and maybe making the audience sign something on their way in. That's what tonight is for...to let him do all those things, indulge himself for once. It's fucking brilliant, is what it is.

So he goes through the motions of the show, and when he gets his first real glimpse of Tommy, long limbs swathed in black, fluffy blonde hair, lips a pretty shiny pink, he doesn't hold back. He lets himself _stare,_ really appreciate his view of Tommy, off to the side and slightly to the back, and he can feel the leer on his face, the open lust. "Bass" has him running his free hand down the length of Tommy's instrument, throwing off Tommy's rock-solid beat for one shuddering moment, and on "crystal ball" he cups his crotch shamelessly, throwing a couple thrusts Tommy's way as he sings. Tommy doesn't meet his eyes during the interaction, and they part ways right after, Tommy moving off to play to the imaginary crowd himself.

Adam has never been so glad to shed his fringed and feathered coat. It's not hot in the building, for once – one departure from the norm Adam was glad to allow – but he _feels_ like he's burning up inside, ready to combust any moment. He kneels at the top of the stairs, and doesn't take his eyes off Tommy for a second, and "it burns, it burns" has never felt more right, sung hot and wanton and desperate.

He struts his way down the stairs, all stripper-hips and pouting mouth, and Tommy's right there, like he always is, waiting for him, pliant and submissive and _fuck,_ that wilting flower act just fucking kills him every time. He's never gotten used to it, never been able to start this song without having to fight against a sudden rush of arousal. Not once.

Tommy glances up at him, once, coy, and then averts his eyes, looks down at his bass as if to be sure his fingerings are right, on this easy-ass song that he's played, oh, six million times now. Adam smirks and takes him by the chin and forces his eyes up, sings the opening lines right into his face, and yes, this is just exactly right, the tension and the wanting and the tugging contrast between "it isn't time" and the fact that it clearly _is_ time, yes, right the fuck now.

He moves in to claim Tommy's lips, and fuck the rest of the song, because this right here is what he's wanted to do in every show since DC and New York and maybe even earlier. Adam lets the microphone fall to the ground, the noise magnified through the sound system, and Tommy swings his bass around to his back, and his arms go around Adam's waist, and Adam's hands are buried in Tommy's hair, and then their bodies are flush up against each other, precariously balanced on the stairs, but it doesn't matter because they're too tied up in each other to fall, lips and tongues and heat and movement, and Adam can _feel_ all those eyes on them, watching and taking pictures and recording video and screaming their fucking lungs out, and it's thrilling like nothing has ever been, taboo and wrong and glorious.

They break apart panting, lips swollen and red, Tommy's lip gloss smeared all over his pretty face, and Adam can taste it on his tongue. He finds the mic where it's rolled away by an amp, and picks it up, and finishes the song, miming the choreography with phantom dancers. Tommy's fingers make their way back to the bass line, eventually, giving him the bare bones of the song to keep him grounded and in time.

He leaves the stage to throw on his long coat, listening to Tommy play the tribal interlude, and there's no fucking way he's going to make it to the end of the show like this. He throws open his laces with practiced fingers and takes his cock in hand, stroking hard and rough for only a matter of seconds before he's coming all over the floor, messy splatters that make him feel bad for just the slightest moment before he remembers that he's a fucking rock star, and for just this one show, he can do whatever the fuck he wants. He laces back up quickly, and he's the picture of composure when he comes back on stage, like that mind-shattering kiss never even happened. On with the show.

There's only one thing he's wanted to do in "Sleepwalker" that he hasn't been able to, and it's probably the least controversial thing he'll do all night. Instead of moving downstage and singing out to the audience, Adam stays right by Tommy, body angled into his, and they rock out on the song together, Tommy singing his little heart out, and he's got that pretty emo pout on his face, but Adam can tell that he's grinning inside. He grins himself, and it doesn't match the song at all, and he doesn't care. He'd thought he was past the point of really having fun with this music. Apparently, he was wrong.

He sings the acoustic songs _a capella_ instead, and it feels good to know he can still do it, hit every note in tune even without Monte's comforting presence next to him. He plays with the timing like he's not able to with accompaniment, stretching out the long, slow notes, embellishing the high bits, singing "Whataya Want From Me" at its original slow tempo for the first time in many, many months. It's selfish and indulgent and more than a little bit arrogant, but he enjoys listening to the sound of his own voice, free of any other noise for once, no instruments or screaming fans or mistakes by the sound crew. It's a pleasure he hasn't felt in a very long time.

He strides offstage again, right past Tommy, hurrying into his last costume and listening as Tommy solos his way through the second interlude, playing with the music, changing it, pushing himself as the regular songs don't. He's excited. If he's honest, this is his favorite part of the show, this ending of celebration and joy, where he gets to dance his ass off and play around and keep the audience guessing about whether they "deserve" an encore or not. The songs pass in a blur, but he always comes back to Tommy, fluffing his hair, manhandling him around the stage, getting right up in his face to sneak kisses in between lyrics, and it's so much _fun,_ not having to worry about what they'll look like, how much they're giving away.

They get to the point in the show where Adam introduces the other band members, and he goes through the motions, pointing to where Cam and LP would usually sit, hearing their solos in his head. Then he retrieves Tommy from his little corner and pulls him right to the front of the stage. He turns out to look into the crowd, imagining every glittering face he's played to, the hundreds of thousands of them. Then he speaks.

"You all know who this is, right? Yeah. This is Tommy, and he's my bass player. But he's a lot more than that. He's my friend. And then he was my makeout buddy. And then my fuck buddy." Adam pauses for the screaming, and hopes no one will faint. "And now...I know y'all love him...but not half as much as I do. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Tommy Joe Ratliff!" he finishes.

But Tommy doesn't play. He's smiling at Adam, this sweet sappy little smile, hearts in his eyes, as they liked to say on Twitter. And Adam smiles back, and suddenly inspiration strikes, and he skips Monte's intro and goes right into "If I Had You," but it's not a version he's ever done before. Instead, he slows the song, stretches the notes into something pretty and heartfelt and almost a different song altogether, and the meaning of the lyrics hits him anew, and he realizes how true they really are. Tommy blushes and listens and lets Adam take his hand, and Adam's grateful again that Tommy's willing to put up with his crazy sentimental streak, willing to be romanced to Adam's heart's content.

He doesn't even leave the stage, no pretense that he's done yet. Instead, he gives Tommy the signal for "Whole Lotta Love" and goes into his dance, lets the beat infiltrate his body and guide its motion, slow sexy hips, arms moving free. He drifts away, to the opposite side of the stage, and when he starts into the song, he pins his gaze on Tommy and doesn't look away, aiming every lyric right at him, and Tommy plays along beautifully, glancing up to meet his eyes, then quickly looking away, coquettish as only he can be. He starts a long, slow stalk across the stage, predatory, letting his voice go where it will, rising in pitch and volume and intensity as he comes closer, and god, the lyrics have never sounded so obscene as they do right now.

And Adam's fucking _done_ playing, and he gets to Tommy and comes up behind him, pressing right up against his body, so close that he can feel the vibrations of the bass going through him. And he's had all sorts of ideas throughout the tour, more than they could ever do in one night - he's wanted to get on his knees for Tommy, and shove Tommy to his knees for him, and bend Tommy over one of the benches and fuck him, and sit on the stairs with Tommy riding his lap, and a hundred other things that all sound amazing.

But this right here feels fucking awesome, and it's close enough to reality that Adam can keep the fantasy going, keep imagining the fans watching them, skirting that line just perfectly. He reaches around and gets a hand between Tommy and his bass, stroking him through his pants and pulling him back into his thrusts at the same time, and Tommy, bless him, keeps playing, improvising now, fingers dancing to the beat of Adam's hips. And it's over far, far too quickly, beautiful friction doing its work, and Adam just can't get over the fact that they're on _stage,_ and oh fuck, they're going to have to do this for real somehow, someday, he doesn't even _care_ because this is possibly the hottest thing he's ever done.

He sinks his teeth into Tommy's neck when he comes, staring out into the audience, challenging them, pushing them, crying out _fucking look at me_ with his entire body. Tommy follows right after, feedback squealing as he loses control of his hands and just hangs on to the neck of his bass for dear life, and Adam glances at his face, eyes closed and mouth open and holy _shit_ he's beautiful, never more beautiful than when under the stage lights.

He doesn't bother finishing the fantasy, the saying goodnight and all that. Instead, he puts his hands on Tommy's shoulders and turns him around, and his lips part in a reflection of the grin he sees on Tommy's face.

"So. Did you like your present?" Tommy asks, cheeky, happy.

Adam nods. "Best present _ever._ You spoil me, baby. How are you ever gonna top this one?"

And Tommy raises his eyebrows and says, "Oh, I could tell you...but the waiting would kill you. Still a whole year away."

And Adam laughs and hugs him and wonders how it's even possible that his life could have turned out so, so right.


End file.
